


Little House of Savages

by imashambles



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: Also yes, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Panic, I'll post more tags as they become relevant, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Internalized Homophobia, Little House of Savages by The Walkmen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Parental Death, a lot more feelings than you might expect from a Nathan Barley fic, general first-time awkwardness, how did they become the disasters we see in series?, i guess you will have to keep reading to eventually find out, i wrote them many years ago, it'll be embarrassing for all of us, it'll be great, maybe i will make a spotify playlist when i finish the whole thing, please be gentle with the ridiculous level of cheese in these early chapters, so as to avoid spoiling the new readers, the first one being, the trifecta of quality fic, they are so adorably awkward and sweet you guys, this was absolutely a song fic, with each chapter having a sort of "theme song" as i wrote them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imashambles/pseuds/imashambles
Summary: A tale of love, heartbreak, and self-discovery, starting at Dan and Jones' meet-cute, working its way through the Nathan Barley series, and giving us all what we've been longing for since 2005: a happy ending for these two idiots.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Many years ago on Livejournal, I started this fic and then oh so rudely abandoned it. 
> 
> If you were one of the original readers who followed my updates and then lamented the day when I just ... disappeared ... I am sorry, welcome back, and THANK YOU. 
> 
> If you are just now discovering this tale, welcome to what some have called "an oldie but goodie" in the booshlr fic realm. I hope you enjoy this look into my headcanons for Nathan Barley and the good ship Jashcroft. 
> 
> Come with us now on a journey through time and space as we discover who Dan Ashcroft and DJ Jones used to be, how they came to be the sad sacks we see on Nathan Barley, and who they will become together. That's right, kids. I have a new editor, a new outlook on life, and a determination to finish this thing if it kills me. Y'all deserve to see the happy ending.
> 
> A million thanks to Kelsy (kelsofishy on instagram) who was my original beta back in 2011 when this was just a series of late night chats and headcanons, and another million to Anna (dreadpiratedee on tumblr) who has taken on the herculean task of keeping me on target, cheering me on, and helping me to finally give these boys the happy ending they deserved. Y'all are the best. I hope I do you proud.

On May 25th, 1994, Daniel Jones finds himself suddenly wrenched from his slumber by the ringing of the telephone.  He looks at the clock to find that it’s just after two in the morning.  He wonders how long the phone has been ringing and why his mother hasn’t answered it yet.  He stumbles across the hall to his parents’ room and sees their door is still ajar and their bed is empty.  Well, that will explain it then.  Just as well that they got a hotel.  It’s their 20th anniversary.  He doesn’t need to hear what all they get up to on their “special night.”  He lifts the receiver from his father’s bedside table, flops onto his mother’s side of the bed, and croaks out, “House of Jones.”

And then his world is blown apart.

* * *

Some time later (Two hours? Five minutes?  He can’t be sure.), he hears someone thundering up the stairs two at a time.  Whoever it is doesn’t even check his room first; they just crash in and run straight to his parents’ bed.  He doesn’t know how they knew where to find him.  He can’t be sure if he’s even breathed since the police officer hung up the phone.  He’s still clutching the receiver in his hand, and it’s beeping furiously at him, but he can’t remember how to hang it up.  He can’t remember anything.  He can’t see; he can’t hear; he can’t feel anything.  Somewhere, he thinks, someone is wailing, their ear-piercing keening as high pitched as a car alarm.  He suspects it might be him.  Suddenly, his Aunt Charlotte is shaking him and shouting, “Danny!  Danny!  You’ve got to stop, Danny!  Stop it right now!”  She slaps his face, hard. 

He gulps and opens his eyes.  The room is illuminated slightly from the hall light that Aunt Charlotte turned on, but it’s enough to make him squint after having his eyes shut for so long.  Charlotte has taken the phone from him gently and is putting it back on the cradle as she sits down beside him on his father’s side of the bed.  He blearily looks at her face, trying to make sense of the situation.  She has been crying.  Maybe she still is.  He isn’t quite sure of anything anymore.  Aunt Charlotte looks at him, and he looks at her.  Finally, he whispers, “What are we going to do?” Her lip quavers as she says, “I don’t know, Danny.”  Danny.  He’d always hated it when people called him that, but suddenly the childish name feels comforting and appropriate in conjunction with his feelings.  Aunt Charlotte takes his hand, and they sit beside one another, staring at the opposite wall in complete silence until the sun comes up.

* * *

Time passes.  Legal arrangements are made.  Caskets are purchased.  Flowers are delivered. Two irreplaceable humans are covered in earth.  An insurance check for £200,000 arrives addressed to Daniel Jones c/o Charlotte Murphy.  One thing does not happen. 

Daniel Jones does not cry.

* * *

The first time Jones goes to the pub, he is nervous.  His friend Sam swears that the ID looks legit, that Jones is close enough to 18 that he’ll pass for sure, but his palms are still sweating as he hands the card to the bouncer at the door.  The man barely glances at it and ushers him in with a wave of his hand.  He follows Sam through the crowd to the bar and drinks until he can’t feel anymore.

* * *

Jones wakes to find the sun burning into his skull.  The light is so bright he can feel it in his temples. The postman’s feet on the stoop sound like thunder.  He has never been so hungover in all of his life.  He stumbles to the kitchen for a glass of water, changes his mind halfway there, and bolts to the toilet to vomit instead.  As he is lying on the tile floor, somewhere between sleeping and wakefulness, he is grateful that his Aunt Charlotte chose to let him get his own place as soon as the old house was put on the market. 

_“You’re nearly of age anyway, and you’ve always been a responsible boy,” she’d said, as they’d looked at the maisonette together.  “I couldn’t bear the thought of you living all alone in that big house by yourself, but I think this will suit you nicely.”_

_Jones concurred._

_“You don’t need me tutting over you all the time, and I don’t have a spare bedroom for you anyway.”_

_Jones was adamant that he didn’t want her to give up her amazing flat just for him._

_“I’m only just a few blocks over if you need me for anything.”_

_Jones nodded._

_“And we’ll have dinner every Saturday, yeah?”_

_“Every Saturday,” Jones had agreed._

Saturday.  Jones groans and lifts his arm to check the date on his watch.  Today is Saturday, he thinks.  He’d better get his shit together in a hurry so that Aunt Charlotte doesn’t reconsider their new living arrangement.

 


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 1994. Jones meets Dan at the pub and takes him back to his place. Awkwardness ensues.

Jones first meets Dan at a pub that July.  Jones is there with his fake ID. He’s been partying hard ever since his parents died, drinking and popping pills to drown out the feelings he isn’t ready to deal with just yet. He looks across the room and sees a boy about his own age, maybe a year older, leaning on the bar and awkwardly surveying the room. Even in his chemically-altered state, Jones feels for the boy. He looks lost and lonely and maybe even a little bit scared. Although he rarely shows it, Jones knows that feeling well. He knows what a shitty feeling it is. He doesn’t want this boy to feel that way anymore.

“Hi,” he’s grinning manically, standing next to the boy before he’s even realized he’s moved his feet.     

“Um, hi,” the boy mutters, looking quickly up at Jones and then back down into his pint. The boy runs his thumb over the sweat on his glass, avoiding eye contact, but not giving Jones any obvious signals that he’s done with their interaction.     

“So, uh, you come here often?” Jones asks, knowing the answer is “no” because he has been coming here nearly every night for the past month, and he has never seen this boy before in his life.     

“Uh, no. I just... I’m just visiting?” the boy says like it’s a question, shuffling his feet and putting a hand in his jacket pocket. He takes a nervous sip of his drink and looks up at Jones again.

“Thought you might be.  The accent. You got a name?” Jones asks brightly. He’s not sure why he feels compelled to keep needling this boy who obviously would rather be left alone. Maybe it’s because he wishes people would stop leaving  **him** alone. They think they know what he wants, and he knows the signals he sends are pretty clear, but he still just wishes that someone would call him on his bullshit and ask him how he’s  ** _really_** feeling for once.

“Dan,” the boy says.

“No way! Me too!” Jones gestures wildly, sloshing beer on the other Dan’s shoes. “Oh, shit! Sorry, mate!"

“That’s alright, Dan,” the other Dan gives him a small smile.

“No one really calls me that, though. It’s just Jones usually,” says Jones, as he grabs some napkins from the bar and starts cleaning up his mess. “So what brings you to London Town?” he asks, straightening up.

“Um, school?” says Dan. “University.”

“Ah,” says Jones. “You taking summer classes?”

“No,” says Dan, “Just here with my mum and dad this week to take a look at the campus, try to find myself a place to live and all that. I won’t be moving here until August.”

“You need a place to live?” Dan thinks that Jones sounds suspiciously optimistic at this information and shuffles uncomfortably. “It’s just that I got a place, yeah?” Jones continues, “It ain’t much, but it’s a place. You wanna come check it out? It’s dead boring living all by myself. Too quiet. I could do with a flatmate. And it’s free too, so you or your folks could save some money on room and board an’ that. Whatcha fink?”

Dan “finks” that this kid has a ridiculous haircut. He “finks” that the kid could use some proper grammar training. He “finks” that there’s no way the kid is even actually 18, which makes him “fink” that it’s awfully suspicious that the kid has got a place of his own, rent-free, like he must be a squatter or something. On the  _ **other**_ hand, he “finks,” this kid is the first person to speak to him in London, the first person to pay him any mind, and he seems harmless enough.

“Sure. Where’s it at?” Dan asks, draining his glass and setting it on the bar.

Jones slams the rest of his beer and grabs Dan’s elbow, leading him toward the exit.  
  


* * *

“So this is it, yeah?” says Jones, gesturing grandly as he opens the door of the maisonette. Dan finds himself looking into a dingy hallway with a narrow staircase. They climb to the living room, and Dan surveys it, noting both its size and the brand new DJ equipment in one corner. He also quickly notices that –

“There’s only one bedroom, yeah,” Jones concedes, “but we can make that work. I’ll get a futon, yeah? A really nice one, not like the cheap, shitty ones that uni students usually have. I got plenty o’ money –”

“Yeah, about that,” begins Dan, sounding apprehensive. “How do you afford this place? Is this all... legal?” He looks afraid of the answer.

“Very legal,” Jones says, suddenly somber. He’s not sure how long he thought they could put off this conversation, but here they are, so he might as well get it out of the way. “So my parents, yeah? They died, okay? Last month. Drunk driver hit them; it was awful.” He pauses, closing his eyes, then swallows, and continues. “So my Aunt Charlotte, right? She’s supposed to be my legal guardian ‘cept she lives in this  _really_ great flat, but it’s only got one bedroom, and I’m _very_ **_nearly_** 18 anyway,” he looks guilty now, like he’s given away a big secret, but he blunders on, “so she thought it’d just be easier for us both if I used the insurance money to buy myself a smaller place closer to where she lives. And as soon as the house sells all that money’s mine too. So yeah. That’s how I got a place and a whole shitload money so’s I can buy stuff like furniture and turntables and whatnot.”

Dan is certain that he’s never gleaned so many personal details about someone in such a short span of time before. The kid’s honesty is shocking, but inviting. “I’m really sorry to hear all of that,” he mumbles, looking at his feet again. “I shouldn’t have pried. I didn’t know.”

“Well how were you meant to know?” Jones asks, sounding exasperated. “It ain’t like we went to primary school together or nuffin’. I just... It’s okay, but let’s just not talk about it anymore, okay?” Jones sniffs a bit, and Dan pointedly looks away, giving the kid a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“I ain’t gonna cry about it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jones blurts out with false bravado. “I’m not a child.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Dan’s voice is very quiet.

They stand in silence for a few more minutes, then Jones resumes the tour. “So yeah, this is the living room, right? It’s where you’ll live. We can put the futon over there, make that whole side of the room just sort of  _your_ area or whatever. Over here,” he crosses to a doorway on the lefthand side of the room, “is the kitchen, where we’ll eat and stuff.” He turns on the light and waves a hand like a gameshow host’s assistant, showcasing the prizes. “Over there,” he points to a door on the right side of the room, “Is the bathroom. I assume you know what a bathroom is for. And this,” he announces as he enters the door to the right of the kitchen and waits for Dan to follow, “is the bedroom. It’s plenty big, as you can see, so if you need to put some stuff in here, we can do that too. I’ve got a walk-in closet, and you can have part of it if you like, as well. And that,” he says crossing his arms, “is the place. So whaddya fink? You wanna do it?”

There it is again. “Fink.” Dan winces internally at one of his greatest pet peeves: poor annunciation. The kid is looking at him like his whole world is hanging on this, and given the circumstances, Dan isn’t sure what he’s “finking” when says, sounding much more enthusiastic than he actually feels, “Sure. Why not?”

“Stellar!” Jones declares, and crushes Dan in a hug that more closely resembles a flying tackle. “It’ll be genius not having to live by myself no more.” Jones sighs, and Dan wonders just how long this hug is meant to go on.

Quite long, apparently. Dan notices that Jones has gone very quiet and still for the first time since they’ve met. He assumes the kid is probably just lonely and thinking about his parents again. His suspicion seems to be confirmed as Jones takes a small, shaky breath. Suddenly afraid that Jones is going to start crying, Dan awkwardly makes a sort of soothing motion, running his hands up and down the smaller boy’s back. Jones sighs again, then leans back to peer into Dan’s face. He’s not sure what makes him do it. He only knows that he has no choice, like a siren is calling to him from deep within Dan’s brown eyes. Jones closes the gap and brings their mouths together.

Neither of them is sure how it’s happened, but somehow, they’ve gone from hugging to caressing to kissing in a matter of seconds. Jones has never kissed a boy before. He isn’t sure if he’s ever even thought about kissing a boy before. Dan knows  _ **he**_ hasn’t, but here they are, making out in the doorway like this is as natural as breathing. Finally, Dan pulls away and says, “Look. Umm... Jones. I’m flattered and all, but... I’m not ... you know... gay.”

“I’m so sorry!” Jones blurts out, jumping back and covering his mouth with his hands. “I must be more wasted than I thought!” He isn’t. He’d only had the one beer before they came back to the flat, and he’d spilled half of it on Dan’s shoes, so he knows he’s not even slightly pissed. Still, it’s easier than trying to explain his actions, either to Dan or to himself. “I’m not gay either, mate. I don’t even know what just came over me.”

“Me neither,” Dan sounds even more awkward, which Jones didn’t think was possible. “I must be drunk too.” He’s not. He was also in the middle of his first beer when Jones approached him at the bar. Still, it’s easier than trying to explain his actions, either to Jones or to himself.

They stand in silence for a solid minute.

“So... I’m gonna go, yeah?” Dan gestures lamely toward the door.

“Alright,” Jones nods, “But... don’t let this stop you, yeah? I promise this ain’t  _ **never**_ happened to me before, and we don’t ever have to talk about it  _ **ever**_ again. Here –” he pulls a marker from his pocket and writes on Dan’s hand. “That’s my phone number, yeah? And this is the address. Call me, send a note, whatever. We’ll get it sorted before your school starts.”

Dan stares at his hand for a few moments, then leaves without saying another word.


	3. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make plans for Dan to move in. Jones meets Dan’s parents.

The phone rings, waking Jones with a start. He  _hates_ waking to the phone ringing. It brings back too many painful memories, too many emotions he’s still not sure he’s ready to deal with yet. He flops about in his bed, trying to disentangle himself from the sheets that are twisted around his naked body. “House of Jones,” he says into the receiver. Old habits die hard.

“Um, hi... Jones? This is... Dan. You know? Dan?”

Dan sounds just as awkward over the phone as he does in person.

“Alright, Dan?” Jones says brightly, sitting up and running his free hand through his messy hair. “How’s it goin’? I was startin’ to wonder if you were ever gonna call.”

It’s been 11 days since their first encounter, not that either of them has been counting.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Been busy. Packing and graduation parties and all that.”

“Right, right,” Jones says vaguely. He thinks about all of the graduation parties he’s been invited to this summer, how many he’s skipped to go drinking alone instead. He tries (and fails)  _ **not**_ to think about the graduation party he didn’t have because his Aunt Charlotte hadn’t thought of throwing him one, and he didn’t want to remind her because he didn’t really feel like being around all those people who would only want to talk about his parents’ accident anyway.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Dan says, jogging Jones out of his reverie and back into the present, “If I’m going to live with you, we should probably get to know each other, yeah? My mum and dad would like to meet you too, if that’s alright. They’re very pragmatic, so of course they’re thrilled at the thought that I might be able to save some money by living with you. My dad says it’ll make up for me turning down a full scholarship to go to the school where he teaches,” he mutters bitterly.

Jones isn’t sure what to say to that.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt.”

“It’s alright.” Jones chuckles a bit. “It’s not any worse than I’ve already done.”

“Right...” Dan is silent then and, as ever, awkward. “So anyway, they just want to make sure you’re not a serial killer or a crack addict or anything before they give me the go-ahead to move in.”

“Right. Of course,” Jones says, absentmindedly rubbing his nose and trying not to look in the direction of the bag of white powder on his dresser, as if he could give himself away over the phone. “So, when would they want to meet up? I should warn you that I’m London born and bred, so I don’t have a car or know how to drive,” Jones says regretfully. He’s not sure where Dan lives, but if the accent is any indication, it’s somewhere in the North.

“That’s alright,” Dan says, “Dad’s actually giving a presentation at some history conference in London tomorrow, so we can meet you somewhere for tea if that works for you...”

“... Sorry this is so late notice; I should have called sooner,” he adds, when Jones doesn’t say anything for a minute.

“No, no. That’s fine. That’ll work fine. I just... I just have a few things I need to take care of first,” Jones says quickly.  _Like sobering myself up and trying to figure out how to hide the fact that I **am** a burgeoning crack addict,_ he thinks.

The plans are made, and Jones hangs up the phone and sighs. He looks at himself in the mirror across from his bed, the mirror above his dresser, the dresser that is currently home to a bag of cocaine. He climbs out of bed and walks over, picking up the bag to inspect it in the light. Memories of the previous night come back to him in flashes.

_Stopping by Sam’s graduation party. Leaving Sam’s party early under the guise of heading to another classmate’s, but actually going back to the pub. Meeting that strange girl at the bar. Finding himself at her place snorting lines off of her belly, before shagging her senseless. Sneaking home in the middle of the night with his newly made purchase and her phone number screaming out like an alarm in his pocket. Drinking most of a bottle of wine to try and turn his mind off. Passing out in his bed with the telly on._

He carries the bag to the bathroom and dumps it into the toilet, then pads to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee before heading back to the shower to try and sort himself out before it’s too late.  
  


* * *

 

Jones is a bit jumpy when he meets the Ashcrofts the next afternoon. He’d had the good sense to call Dan back yesterday and ask for his last name so he’d know what to call Dan’s parents. (He suspected that “pragmatic” people like them would be disinclined to let their son move in with someone who didn’t even know his surname.) He also asked a few precursory questions: hometown (Leeds – Jones was right), siblings (one sister, Claire, age 10), which university Dan is attending (Kingston), and what his major will be (journalism). He made sure to go to bed early last night. He cleaned the flat meticulously, making sure to scrub the telltale toilet and take out the rubbish, in case Dan’s parents want to come and see the place for themselves. He hasn’t had a single drink or any sort of illicit substance in 36 hours. He hopes it’s enough time to not only get all of the drugs out of his system, but also keep him from experiencing any embarrassing or obvious withdrawal symptoms during tea. He’s not been using for very long, he reasons, so he should be fine. Still, he’s not certain whether the nausea he feels is from nerves or the sudden sobriety.

Dan sees him from across the street and waves, tugging his mother’s arm and pointing at Jones, who is waiting at a traffic light. Jones jogs across and pushes his fringe out of his eyes as he shakes Dr. Ashcroft’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, son,” says Dan’s father.

“Dan has told us so much about you,” his mother gushes as she kisses Jones’ cheek.

He has? Jones looks at Dan questioningly over Mrs. Ashcroft’s shoulder, and Dan gives him an apologetic look. Ah, so they know about his parents then. Just as well, Jones thinks. He won’t have to talk about it then.

Tea goes well enough. Mrs. Ashcroft is constantly mothering Jones, tutting over him and treating him as if he were her own, and Jones has to admit that he doesn’t mind. He’s missed having a mother. If he had known that a flatmate would come with one, he would have sought one out from the get-go. He finds it ironic when Mrs. Ashcroft says, “Please, call me Wendy.” Of course her name is Wendy. Like in  _Peter Pan_. Surrogate mother to a Lost Boy.

Dr. Ashcroft, however, offers no such informality. He asks Jones practical questions about his work (apprentice at a hair dresser’s and amateur DJ), his education (graduated secondary school this spring, middle of his class, not arsed with going to uni because he makes enough money at his current job and doesn’t know what he’d want to do anyway), and his upbringing (nominal – only child, two loving parents married for exactly 20 years, mum taught art at a primary school, dad was a salesman, yearly seaside vacations, no pets, no abuse, no cults or deviant behavior).

“That’s quite enough, Brian,” Mrs. Ashcroft says gently when she notices Jones going a bit quiet while talking about his family. “He seems like a nice enough boy. Let’s eat and then we’ll go see the place, shall we?”

Dan smiles weakly at Jones across the table, and Jones smiles back, pressing his foot up against Dan’s to let him know he’s okay.


	4. Dan Moves In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does what it says on the tin. Also, Dan meets Aunt Charlotte.

“That’ll be the last of it, then,” Dr. Ashcroft huffs as he sets the last box down in the middle of the living room. He stands with his hands on his hips, surveying the place, and finally crosses over to his son. “Behave yourself,” he says, giving Dan a stiff hug. “And you too,” he says to Jones, as he crosses to shake his hand. “Take care of our boy here,” he nods in Dan’s direction.

“Oh, Brian,” Wendy tuts. “You can’t ask him to take care of Dan; he’s practically a child himself.” She squashes Jones in a tight hug and kisses his crown before she rounds on Dan, “And heavens knows I’ve always had my hands full with how stubborn  ** _you_** are. He won’t stand a chance against you.” She sighs and holds her boy at arm’s length, tears shining in her eyes.

“Mum, do  **not** cry,” Dan warns.

“Oh, Danny! Don’t treat your poor mother so! Of course I’m going to cry! This is worse than your first day of school when you were six, and I cried like a schoolgirl then! You’re not coming home at half-three and telling me all about your day now either; I may not see you again until Christmas, and goodness knows if you’ll even remember to call! If that’s not cause for a proper mum cry, I don’t know what is.” She wipes at her eyes but does not actually break out into sobs.

Jones has been silently observing all of this with a lump in his throat, but he suddenly speaks. “I’ll make sure he calls. Every Saturday, yeah? When I get home from having dinner with my Aunt Charlotte, I’ll always make sure he gives you a ring.”

“Oh, you dear, I’m sure you will, too,” says Mrs. Ashcroft, sweeping both boys into a final, crushing embrace.

“Wendy, it’s nearly a four-hour drive, and we’ve got work in the morning,” Dr. Ashcroft says softly but firmly by the door.

“Oh, yes dear, of course.” They each kiss Mrs. Ashcroft and shake Dan’s father’s hand once more. Then the door is shut and bolted behind them, and the boys stand side by side in silence, staring at it.

“So,” Dan finally says.

“Yup.” Jones sniffs.

They spend the rest of the evening unpacking Dan’s things and speaking as little as possible.

* * *

“So,  _why_ am I doing this again?” Dan calls out from their shared closet, where he is trying to determine which of his shirts is the least wrinkled.

“Because,” Jones hollers back from the bathroom, “Aunt Charlotte wants to meet you. She said she wants to know ‘who’s going to be looking after her ward’ or something.” He sprays one last coat of Rave on his perfectly mussed hair before heading back over to the bedroom. He hears Dan huff from the back of the closet and pokes his head around the door. “Hey. I heard that. You be nice to my auntie. She’s amazing. I know she can be a bit flighty, and your family thinks she’s a selfish cunt for not chucking that great flat to play ‘Auntie Warbucks’ to my ‘Little Orphan Andy’, but I love her, and she is all I’ve got, so be nice.” Jones is trying to sound playful, but underneath there’s an edge to his voice that Dan has never heard before.

“I’m not being  _not_ nice,” he protests. “I just... I don’t like meeting people, okay? Not just your auntie, but  _people_. It makes me nervous. It makes my palms sweaty. I never know what to say or where to look. I just ... It’s hard for me.” He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Alright! Settle down!” Jones says. “Charlotte ain’t  _people_ , though, Dan. She’s just me auntie. She’s sweet. A bit like your mum, but less ... mum-like...”

Dan cocks an eyebrow.

“You’ll like her I promise.”

Dan sighs once more. “Alright.” He holds up two shirts. “Which of these says ‘I’m not going to murder your nephew in his sleep’?”

“The blue one,” Jones grins.

* * *

 

“So,” Aunt Charlotte says over dinner, “tell me about yourself, Dan Ashcroft.”

“Well, I’m from Leeds. My dad’s a history professor at Leeds Met. My mum works there as well; she’s a secretary for the –”

“I said tell me about  _yourself_ , Dan.”

“Umm... Well... What do you want to know?” asks Dan.

“What do you do? What do you like? What makes you tick? What makes you angry?”

Dan is certain he has never met anyone like Charlotte Murphy. Suddenly, Jones makes a lot more sense.

“Well...” he begins, “I... I like to play guitar. I love to write.”

“Ah! Now we’re getting somewhere! A creative type, like Danny,” she looks fondly at Jones, who blushes and ducks his head at being called by his family pet name in front of his new friend. “What sorts of things do you write?”

“Umm... I don’t know... just... stuff...” Dan is fidgeting in his seat, staring at his plate as he pokes his chicken around with his fork.

“For someone who ‘loves’ the written word, you sure aren’t much for talking,” she says, not unkindly.

“Meeting people makes him nervous, Char,” says Jones, reaching across the table for the salt.

“Oh, well, love, there’s nothing to be nervous about with me. I’m not  _people_.” She gives Dan a warm smile and pats his hand. “So, you write ‘stuff’ and play guitar. What else? Jones says you’re going into journalism, classes starting at Kingston next week?”

“Yeah,” says Dan. “Journalism, yeah.”

“So you write essays then, editorials?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Dan seems slightly encouraged and manages to keep talking, albeit falteringly. “I was on the school paper back home. I write a lot in, erm... in my...” he doesn’t want to say  _diary_ because it makes him think of the silly purple book with the heart-shaped lock that Claire keeps under her pillow.

“He keeps a journal,” Jones offers, and Dan looks at him gratefully.

“All the best men do,” smiles Charlotte. “Churchill, Lincoln, Lennon...”

“ _Lenin_?!?” exclaims Dan.

“She means John,” Jones explains.

“Oh. Right.” Dan feels foolish. “So yeah... Umm... I’ve got a sister, Claire. She’s 10 and kind of annoying, but she’s really funny too. I like her a lot. Definitely more than I thought I would. I hated her when she was first born, thought she was going to ruin everything, but she’s alright for a kid, I guess. She’s got surprisingly good taste in music. Sorry – talking about my family again instead of me.”

“Oh, no,” Charlotte says warmly. “The way you talk about your sister is telling me loads about you, actually.”

Dan ponders that for a moment.

“So, Dan Ashcroft, musician, writer, thinker, and brother, why Danny?”

“I’m sorry?” Dan’s face is quizzical.

“Why would someone like you, who seems, if you’ll forgive me for inferring, thoroughly practical and  _painfully_ introverted, choose to move in on a whim with someone like my Danny here?”

Jones has once again gone red at “Danny.”

“Well...” Dan pauses, realizing that he isn’t quite sure  _he_ knows how he’s ended up with Jones, especially given their awkward beginning. “I guess... he was there,” he says, fully aware of how insufficient that sounds.

“Well, I suppose that’s as good a reason as any,” she says.

* * *

Later, as they are leaving, Charlotte hugs Dan tightly and says, “I am  _ **so**_ glad we’ve found you, Dan Ashcroft,” and gives him a knowing wink.

Dan wonders for the entire walk home just what the hell  _that_ was all about.


	5. Flatmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see the boys in their natural co-habitat and Dan accidentally overhears Jones wanking. Awkwardness ensues. (Would you have expected anything else?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again that this chapter was late, friends. It has been a LONG week, and I desperately needed to cut loose at my work Christmas party last night. Two chapters today instead of one, since I was in no state to publish last night!

The boys settle into a semi-regular routine. During the day, Dan attends classes and Jones goes to work. Most evenings, Dan does his assignments while Jones sets out to discover every bit of noise he can extract from his new sound equipment. Sometimes they go out to the pub with Jones’ mates. Other nights, Dan lies on the sofa and strums his guitar while Jones paints gigantic portraits of himself to hang in every room.

“How come you won’t let me do one of you?” Jones is sat back on his haunches, his shaggy blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun of sorts, two paintbrushes poking out of it and strands falling down around his face.

“Hmm?” Dan stops playing but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Your portrait. How come you don’t want me to do one of you? It ain’t like this is just my place, you know. You live here too. You ought to be represented.” Jones waves his arm, gesturing at the replicas of his own face staring back at him from nearly every surface.

“I’m not very photogenic,” Dan mumbles as he resumes playing.

“It’s not a  _photo_ , though, is it, Dan? It’s a  _painting_. They’re two different things. Ain’t you learnin’ nuffin’ at uni?” Jones knows Dan is teetering on the edge of full-blown irritation, but he can’t seem to stop being cheeky. He can never seem to control himself properly when he’s around Dan. He’s not sure what that’s about, so he just chooses not to think about it.

“I don’t want you to paint my picture,” says Dan with finality, and Jones lets it drop.

They spend the next hour consumed by their respective creative endeavors until Dan huffs that he needs to get up early for class in the morning and heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth while Jones tidies up his paints and brushes in the kitchen so that Dan can have his space.

* * *

They had agreed at the outset that it would be best to put Dan’s chest of drawers in Jones’ bedroom. The only time this bothers Dan is on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when he has early classes and Jones doesn’t have to be at the salon until afternoon. He tries to remember to pull his clothes the night before, but sometimes it’s just inevitable, and he finds himself sneaking into the bedroom in the dark, wearing nothing but a towel, hoping he can get in and out without waking Jones. A few times, he’s been certain that Jones was awake and just pretending to be asleep to save them both a mountain of embarrassment. They get along well enough, and they’re fast becoming real friends, but neither of them is too keen on seeing the other in any stage of nakedness, not after the way this whole thing started. Jones sometimes thinks about the ease with which he could change in front of his mates on the football team at school, the careless way he would run around shirtless in his parents’ home, and then contrasts that with the way he always longs for a cardigan or a rollneck when he’s around Dan.

Dan tries not to think about it at all.

* * *

On a Tuesday in mid-September, Dan decides to skip his 8:00 am history class in lieu of getting a few extra hours of sleep before his two-o’clock anthropology exam. He’s just opened his eyes and registered the time (10:08) when he hears a sound that makes him immediately wish he had just gone to class (or at very least let Jones know last night that he would be in this morning). Clearly Jones has assumed that Dan left at 7:30 as usual. He  _has_ to think that Dan is gone. There is  _ **no way**_ he would be wanking that loudly, that wantonly, with that much  _abandon_ , if he knew that Dan was still in the flat. Dan is frozen on the futon, not sure what he ought to do. He has to piss like a racehorse, but he’s torn. Part of him doesn’t dare make a sound that would give away his presence in the flat, and the rest of him wants to cough loudly, scream at the top of his lungs, throw his water glass across the room so that it smashes against the bedroom door, do  _ **anything**_ to make this obscenity stop. In the end, he decides to sneak into the bath and wait it out. This way, he figures, he can just pretend that he was in there the whole time and heard nothing. This kills multiple birds with a single stone: he’ll finally get the slash he so desperately needs, he can get away from the lewd noises Jones is making, and most importantly, Jones won’t think he’s some sort of pervert, listening in on his licentious masturbating.

Dan slides carefully off the futon and tiptoes to the bath, turning the knob before he shuts the door so that it doesn’t click loudly behind him. He locks the door and waits for a moment. It’s not much help. Jones is so far gone and the door is one of those cheap fiberboard ones that come in dorms and caravans, so Dan can still hear Jones’ grunts and groans even though it’s closed.  _Fuck it_ , Dan thinks.  _If he’s that far gone, there’s no way he’s going to hear me turning on the shower then._

As the water runs over him, Dan can’t help thinking about the sounds he’s heard drifting from under Jones’ door. He wonders if this is a routine, something Jones does every morning after Dan leaves, or if today’s performance is an anomaly. He wonders if Jones is always such an enthusiastic masturbator or if he’s found something particularly arousing this morning. He realizes all too late that his thoughts have led his own cock down a very confusing path to hardness, and he feels slightly ashamed as he takes himself in hand loosely.  _Isn’t this wrong?_  he thinks as he works his fist slowly up and down.  _Surely it’s wrong, wanking in the shower while you can hear your flatmate doing the same in the other room_ , he muses as he runs his thumb over the head a few times, picking up speed. Soon he couldn’t care less if it’s wrong or if it’s right. The only sensations he knows are the feeling of his hand jerking over his dick and the sound of Jones’ filthy moaning in his head.

“Oh! Oh, God! Yes!  _Oh, yes_!” Jones is practically shouting now; Dan can hear him over the sound of the water even, and he feels himself getting close as well. He comes all over the tile just as he hears Jones’ bedroom door creak open.

“Umm... Dan?” Jones calls a bit hoarsely. Dan panics, in spite of the fact that the door is locked and Jones has no way of knowing what he’s been doing in here.

“Yeah?” he tries to keep his voice casual, even though he’s still panting.

“Oh... I, uh... I didn’t know you were home.” Jones’ sheepish voice is right outside the bathroom door now.

 _Clearly_ , Dan thinks, but all he says is, “I skipped history.”

“Oh,” Jones says again. The silence is heavy with both of their shame.

“Yeah. I just got up about...” Dan tries to think of a reasonable amount of time and an alibi to cover his tracks, “a half hour ago. I wasn’t feeling very well – I’m pretty hungover, so I’ve pretty much been in here all morning tossing my guts up.” He hopes that Jones either doesn’t realize that he’s lying or is willing to play along. He is.

“Sorry to hear that, mate. I’ll put the kettle on, yeah? I think we’ve got some peppermint tea might help with that – settle your stomach, soothe your headache, and all that, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good, thanks,” Dan calls out again as he reaches for the soap and thanks his lucky stars that Jones is either exactly as thick as he seems or actually as clever as a fox.

* * *

They go out that night with Sam and Ace and the rest of Jones’ usual crowd. Dan brings a nameless girl back to the flat with him, but he’s distracted throughout their entire interaction. As she rides him, he absentmindedly fondles her breasts and tries to determine just why he’s doing this. Is he simply horny or is he trying to prove a point? And to whom?


	6. Jones' Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jones is legal now, so ... party down.

“I don’t see what you’ve got left to be excited about, you berk. You’ve been to the pub more times than you can count this summer. They already know your name; they’re not even gonna ask to see your ID.”

“Well, that ain’t really the point, is it?” Jones asks as he straightens his hair into what he reckons is a passable Kurt Cobain-style coif. (It looks a bit more Myra Hindley, if Dan is honest, which he won’t be because he knows how touchy Jones gets about his hair. Jones has been making great strides at the salon, but he’s still got a long way to go in the color department.)

“Well, what is the point then?” Dan laughs from the doorway.

“Well it’s just that it’s all official now, innit?” Jones remarks. “I’m  _allowed_ to be there now.”

“Let me get this straight: You’re excited because the danger is  _gone_?”

“I don’t really expect you to understand it,” Jones mutters, suddenly sullen. He ducks his head to rifle through a box of products, even though he’s finished with his hair, just giving himself something to do so that he doesn’t have to look at Dan.

Dan isn’t sure how the conversation has gone from lighthearted banter to moody silence so quickly. “I could  _try_...” he offers.

Jones continues speaking to his straighteners as he puts them away. “It’s just that... All this time, these past almost four months, for a hundred an’ seventeen fucking days now, I been an  _orphan_ , yeah? But now I’m 18, I don’t gotta  _be_ an orphan no more. I’m a  _man_ now. A proper grown up. I’m allowed to live here all by myself. I don’t have to worry about me auntie gettin’ in trouble for ‘shirking her duties toward me’ or whatever. I can go to the pub; I can do whatever I want.” His voice drops to a near-whisper. “I just... I don’t have to be an orphan no more. That’s all.”

“Oh,” says Dan. He’s been privy to a few of these brutally honest outbursts from Jones in the two months they’ve known each other, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to them. Jones doesn’t often talk about his real feelings, he doesn’t like to talk about his parents at all, and when he does erupt like this, he never actually cries about it; he’s all scratchy-voiced matter-of-fact statements and the occasional quivering lip. Dan wonders sometimes if Jones would feel better about everything if he just had himself a good cry, but there never seems to be a good way to mention it. Doesn’t seem like there’s much chance of that happening now that Jones has decided he’s a “proper man” either. Dan suspects that Jones believes proper men don’t cry, and certainly not because they miss their mummy, no matter how justifiably she may be missed. He clears his throat and places a hand on Jones’ shoulder. “Come on, then. Get your coat; you don’t want to be late to your own party.” And with that he withdraws to the living room to put his boots on, leaving Jones a moment of desperately needed solitude.

* * *

It’s Ace’s idea. Of course it’s Ace’s idea. Ace would be the one to come up with this madcap plan.  _Ace,_  Dan thinks.  _What a fucking cunt._  Everyone knows his real name is Jake, but he insists on going by this ridiculous moniker, as if the fact that he’s a total shag-bandit makes him God’s gift to the earth. Fucking Ace.

“It’ll be fuckin’ ace!” shouts Sam.

“O’ course it will! That’s why  ** _I_**  came up with it!” Ace bellows back.

The pair of them were smashed off their tits before Dan and Jones even got to the pub. Dan wonders if they even remember whose birthday they’re meant to be celebrating. But of course they do. Sort of. That’s why they’re all piled in the back of a cab headed to the seediest strip club known to man. All because of Ace, that Scottish prick. Fucking Ace.

* * *

“You’re 18 now, right?” Ace had shouted into Jones’ ear, his arm thrown heavily across the back of the smaller boy’s neck, his hot, Jameson-scented breath boiling the skin off of Jones’ face. Jones had staggered under the combined weight and stench and assented. “So let’s get some fookin’ strippers, yeah? You been to this pub every fookin’ night for three months, yeah? Let’s do sumfin you ain’t never done before, mate! Let’s go to the fookin’ strip club! Woo!” He let out an ear-splitting whoop of pure, depraved glee directly into Jones’ unsuspecting ear.

And this is how Jones finds himself sat in a dingy club, a buxom girl with badly dyed ginger hair straddling his lap and resolutely removing her scant articles of clothing. Jones isn’t sure where he’s meant to look. It seems rude not to look her in the eye, but at the same time, it’s not her eyes that Ace and Sam have shelled out 80 pounds for him to see. If his eyes are worrying him, Jones is positively  _dying_ over what to do with his hands. Is he meant to touch her? Himself? He feels like he ought to offer a steadying hand for fear she’ll tumble right off his scrawny thighs, but at the same time, he’s not sure where to put his hand other than on her exposed ass cheek, and that just seems too forward... Oh dear. And now she’s taken her off her bustier and is actually –oh God, no, she’s not – yes, yes she is. She is rubbing her  ** _tits_** _on. his. face._ Jesus Christ on a bicycle, this is more than he can handle at his current level of alcohol consumption (which is to say, both too much and not enough).

Ace and Sam are pissing themselves laughing. Jones is so nervous he thinks he might be sick. Sure, he’s been with his fair share of girls. He lost his virginity when he was 15 to a girl he met on the prom during a family vacation to Brighton. He never did too poorly with girls at school after that. He’s been known to bring a random bird home from the pub now and again. He’s been with at least a dozen girls over the course of his young life, but somehow, while this is  _less_ , it’s also entirely different and completely terrifying.

As he looks around in his panic, he catches Dan’s eye. In the back of his mind, he finds it odd that Dan would be looking at  **him** instead of the more obvious visual feast before him, but cognitively he only registers that Dan looks almost as uncomfortable as Jones feels. “I’m really sorry, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stop,” Jones blurts out at the same time that Dan gets to his feet and says, “Look, you guys... I think I’m gonna go.”

“Aww, come on! What the hell, boys?” Sam shouts.

“Yeah! Christ! She was just getting’ to the best fookin’ part!”

Jones turns to his friends and says, “Look, thanks for this, yeah?” Then to the stripper, “It’s been a birthday to remember, for sure, but, erm... I don’t feel very well...”

“Aaawww, come  _on_!”

“Bollocks, mate!”

“No, it’s true,” Dan speaks out over their protestations. “I, uh... he wasn’t feeling well earlier today, back at the flat. I haven’t either. We got lunch from that new Indian place across the way from ours, and I’m pretty sure it was poisoned or something.” Jones shoots Dan a look of pure gratitude for the lie. The dancer looks suggestively at Ace – “I’m paid to go for another 10 minutes you know” – and it’s as if Dan and Jones had never existed.

* * *

They step out into the mercifully chilly night air, and Dan lights a cigarette while they wait for the cab they’ve called. He’s picked up the habit in his short time at uni. It gives him something to do in the courtyards, an excuse for mingling with Sasha, one of his less irritating classmates, in between lectures. He holds the pack out to Jones and raises an eyebrow when he takes two. “Sorry, mate. You know what I’m like at the best of times,” (Jones had taken up smoking as a replacement for harder drugs before Dan moved in. It’s not nearly the same, but at least it’s something to take the edge off.) “and I think we can all agree that this is a special circumstance.”

Dan chuckles darkly as he hands over his lighter. “Not sure what you’re so shaken up about. God knows you get plenty o’ muff. I’ve seen you bring at least three different girls home in the time I’ve been living with you.”

“It ain’t that,” Jones mutters around the filter as he lights the first cigarette. “I just...” He draws a deep drag and tilts his head back to exhale into the sky. Dan finds himself staring at Jones’ exposed throat and shakes his head, forcing himself to look away. “When I got off with girls in school, it was always in my bedroom or in the back of a car or someplace where we was alone. When I bring a girl home from the pub, even if you’re there, it ain’t like you’re  _watching_ or nothing, Dan. It’s  _private_. This... this is different. It’s like ... some bird I’ve never even met rubbing her tits on my face _in public_ , and I just... It’s just not something I wanna do.” Jones’ voice has gone small, and he’s shuffling his toe in the dirt like a child, fiddling with the spare cigarette and refusing to look at Dan.

“Look, it’s fine, really. I’m not judging,” says Dan. “I just... I was genuinely curious, that’s all.”

They’re silent while Jones starts on his second smoke.

“It’s really not my scene either,” Dan says quietly. “I felt  _really_ out of place in there,” he nods over his shoulder. “I just thought... well... you just seem like you’re a lot better with girls than I am, so I guess I didn’t think it would have bothered you is all.”

The cab pulls up, and Jones huffs out a small laugh as he stubs out the second cigarette with his toe and steps to the curb. “Aww, what are you? Jealous, Dan? You envious of my moves with the ladies?” Something about Dan’s admission seems to have boosted Jones’ confidence, and he’s left the sullen and embarrassed version of himself on the sidewalk in front of the club. They spend the ride home laughing and joking with one another, swapping stories of their various adolescent sexcapades.

* * *

“So you’re telling me that you didn’t lose your virginity until last year?” Jones is laughing as he hangs his coat up in the entryway. “That is well sad, Dan.”

“What? Just because I wasn’t some tart in school like you were?”

“Hey! That’s not what I mean! And I weren’t a tart neither,” Jones punches Dan’s arm. “I just mean that it’s a bit sad that so many girls missed out on the sexual panther that is Dan Ashcroft.”

“Sexual panther?” Dan’s laughing as he shoves Jones away.

“Whatever, Dan. I heard the sounds that bird you brought home was making the other night. Sounds to me like those girls back in Leeds had no idea what they were missing out on. 'Oh! Oh, Dan! Oh,  _yes_! Harder, Dan!  _Harder_! Oh,  ** _Dan_**!!!'” Jones does his best impersonation of the “bird” in question.

Dan has gone redder than a bus, but he’s still laughing. “Stop it! That just sounds wrong coming out of your mouth.” He fakes a shudder.

“If I wasn’t half pissed, I’d totally make a joke right now... but I am, so I can’t. Pretend I did, though, and that the punchline was something clever about ‘coming  _in_ my mouth’.”

“Jesus, Jones. That is...no.” Dan can’t even find the words. He just shakes his head and shoves him lightly again.

“It’s still early, you know,” says Jones as they head into the kitchen. “You wanna watch a film or something?”

“Sure. As long as you mean a proper film and not something from your porn collection.”

“What?!” Jones cackles into the fridge where he’s digging out two beers. “Who’s getting’ pervy now, Dan?”

“What? I’m just saying. It would fit in with the apparent theme of the evening.”

“Hey, I didn’t plan the theme; it just sort of... happened.” Jones hands Dan his beer, and they make their way to the living room.  “ _Army of Darkness_?”

“Again?”

“It’s my favorite.”

“Alright, seeing as it's  _your_ birthday,” Dan fakes a sigh as they settle onto the sofa.

Jones seems to be preoccupied throughout the film, sneaking glances at Dan like a nervous schoolgirl. Dan berates himself silently, realizing that the only reason he’s noticed how much Jones is looking at him is because he’s been watching Jones instead of the telly. He tells himself that he’s seen this film so many times since he’s moved in that it’s just more fun to watch the way Jones’ face still lights up with surprise and delight in all the right places, the way he mouths half the words along with Ash. He tells himself there is nothing weird about being distracted by your flatmate’s mouth, the curve of his lip, the way his front teeth stick out slightly too far and overlap the tiniest bit...

“I’m gonna get another beer,” Dan practically leaps to his feet. “You want one?”

“Umm... sure,” Jones says, bewildered by Dan’s panicked tone.

Dan stands in the kitchen, gripping the counter and staring out the window over the sink.  _What are you **doing**? What is  **wrong** with you? This is  **Jones** , Dan. You know,  **Jones**? Your flatmate? Your  **straight** flatmate? And might I remind you that you’re straight as well, Dan? So what the  **hell** are you doing?_ He continues to scold himself mentally for a while then takes a few deep breaths, grabs another pair of beers from the fridge, and starts for the living room. He freezes in the doorway.

Jones is on the sofa wearing nothing but his vest and pants.


	7. The Moment We've All Been Waiting For (Sort Of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan finds out why Jones isn’t wearing any trousers. Then... neither of them is. After that, there's lots and lots of talking (mostly on Jones' part) and generally freaking the hell out (mostly on Dan's part).

“What happened to your clothes?” Dan tries to sound casual as he sits back down on the sofa and holds out Jones’ beer.

Jones is gesturing too wildly to take it while he talks. “Ugh... I dropped my bottle and got lager all over myself, and this is the best bit of the film, so I couldn’t be arsed to pause it and go change.”

Dan thinks this excuse sounds flimsy at best, but he can see the beer splashed on the trousers by the couch, and it’s Jones’ house, so he’s not going to argue. “Yeah, that’s fine. It’s no big deal. I mean, we’re both blokes. We’ve done swimming and sports – locker rooms, bathing suits – so it’s not like I’ve never seen a guy in his pants before. Besides, it’s  _your_ house; I’m practically a squatter. So, if you want to run ‘round half naked, even if you wanted to do it all the time, who am I to stop you?”  _Shut up,_  Dan thinks.  _Shut up. Shut up. You’re rambling, Dan. Shut up._

“Hey, now,” Jones’ brow furrows and he places a hand on Dan’s arm. “You’re not a ‘squatter.’ I don’t want you finking of yourself like that. I  _asked_ you to live here. I told you I didn’t need any money. You’re my friend, Dan. It’d feel wrong asking you to pay to live here, like it’s just some sort of business transaction or whatever. I don’t fink of myself as your landlord, Dan; I fink of you as my  _friend_.” Dan is vaguely aware of Jones moving closer to him. “I  _like_ you, Dan.” Yes, Jones has definitely moved over an entire sofa cushion and is rising up onto his knees. “I  _need_ you to know that, Dan. I.  _Like_.  _ **You**_.” Jones draws nearer with every word in that final sentence, and suddenly Dan feels trapped. Jones takes the bottles from his hands and places them on the coffee table. “I wanna try sumfin’, yeah?”

The mood in the room has undeniably shifted. As Ash shouts about his “boom stick” in the background, Jones licks his lips nervously. Dan isn’t sure what’s going on or what he’s meant to do, but he’s intrigued (and frankly more than a little aroused), so he nods and makes a small noise of assent.

And then Jones is kissing him.

It starts out slow and chaste, just Jones’ closed lips working over his own. Then he winds his fingers into Dan’s hair, which seems to release something, and he finds himself kissing back. Jones parts his lips slightly, an invitation. Dan takes it, sliding his tongue across those perfectly imperfect teeth and into Jones’ mouth. Jones sighs contentedly and tightens his grip on Dan’s hair, which causes him to half-sigh, half-moan as well. There’s a bit of awkward scuffling, and then Jones is straddling his lap. He places his hands on Jones’ hips and quickly realizes that the struggle was apparently him taking his pants off. “Wait-” Dan pulls back, tries to say something, but Jones leans forward with him, determined to keep their mouths together. Dan’s mind is reeling; he has no idea how they’ve gotten this far in such a short span of time. He’s simultaneously thrilled and terrified. He’s never let himself fully realize how much he wanted this before. Jones takes his hand, gently winding their fingers together, and starts to guide them toward his now-bare cock.

“Stop!” Dan jerks back with such force that Jones has no choice but to comply. “I mean... We should stop this. We don’t even know what we’re doing; we’re drunk. That’s the only reason why we’re doing this. Everybody gets a bit horny when they’re tipsy, I know, but we can’t do this. This isn’t something we can just ignore in the morning. We _live together_ , Jones. This’ll ruin everything.”

“Will it?” Jones asks skeptically. “Look, Dan. I  _like_ you. I know I don’t normally go for blokes. Actually, I’ve  _never_ gone for a bloke, ever in my life, ever, at all. Never. Not even thought about it, really. It’s always been girls for me. But there is something about  _you_ , Dan. I haven’t been able to resist you from the first time I saw you in that pub, and I don’t know what it means and I don’t know why, but it seems like we’re supposed to be together somehow, and I think you feel it too, and the  _only_ thing I am gonna regret about this evening is if I don’t at least give this a shot.”

“We’re drunk...” Dan mumbles weakly.

“So what if we are? Doesn’t make this less real, Dan, and I know you know it too. I’ve seen the way you been lookin’ at me all night. You were staring at me instead that hooker’s tits at the club –”

“Stripper,” Dan interjects.

“Oh, whatever. The point is, I like you, Dan, and I am at least 85% sure that you like me too, even when we’re not pissed, so why fucking not?”

Dan knows it’s true. There’s always been something there, something neither of them could ever explain, something drawing them together through time and space. He groans. He knows Jones is right. He’s been thinking it to himself all evening, so why fucking not? It’s settled then. He pulls Jones to him and kisses him again, deeper this time, more desperate. Jones lets him win this round, gives Dan control of the kiss, sucks his tongue in deeper, and fists his hands in Dan’s hair. This time, when Jones takes his hand, Dan lets him guide it down, down, down, and wrap his fingers firmly around Jones’ erection.

“Oh, God,” Jones breathes against Dan’s lips. Dan smiles a bit at Jones’ obvious eagerness and lets him set the pace as they work together to bring him off. Jones guides his hand slowly at first, kissing down Dan’s jawline and occasionally whimpering into his ear. As they pick up the pace, Jones returns to kissing him in earnest, ramming his tongue into his mouth and thrusting his hips in time with their hands. Soon he’s coming almost as vociferously as he did that morning he didn’t know Dan was home.

He rests his head on Dan’s shoulder for a moment, panting and half-laughing to himself. Dan’s sitting in stunned silence, still not entirely convinced that this is really happening. After a moment, Jones pulls his vest off and uses it to wipe his hand and Dan’s.

“So... now what?” Dan asks awkwardly, at the same time that Jones leers a bit and says, “So... your turn, yeah?”

“My-my turn?” Dan gulps. He’s hard as a rock but uncertain whether he’s ready to jerk himself off in front of anyone, let alone Jones.

“Fair’s fair,” Jones says matter-of-factly. “Ain’t right for me to get off and then just leave you blue while I flounce off to bed.”

Dan isn’t sure what to do next, but Jones seems pretty sure of himself as he slides off of Dan’s lap and starts undoing his fly. He’s so distracted by the sight of Jones kneeling naked on the floor between his knees that he doesn’t even have time to register the trousers and pants being tugged down over his hips and thighs. “Umm... Jones? What... What are you...?” He’s lost his ability to think clearly, let alone formulate words or complete sentences.

“I wanna try sumfin’, yeah?” Jones licks his lips and looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, and all Dan can do is nod vigorously.

* * *

Jones can tell that Dan is freaking out. He still hasn’t said a word (unless you can count shouting, “Oh fuck! Oh God! Fuck, oh  _fuck_!  _God_ , Jones!” while coming in his mouth, but even that was nearly 10 minutes ago). Jones has since slipped back into his jeans, smoothed his hair, and sat down on the sofa. He’s perched at the opposite end, biting his thumbnail and peering nervously at Dan. “Alright, Dan?” he ventures.

Dan takes a deep breath and nods slightly, glancing at Jones and away again.

Jones creeps slightly nearer. “You sure, Dan?” He places his hand tentatively on Dan’s knee, noting the way his brow is furrowed and he’s worrying his bottom lip.

Dan nods again and stands abruptly and starts doing up his jeans. “I’m just gonna have a smoke, yeah?”

“Alright...” Jones could go for one too, but he suspects Dan is using this as a guise to get some time alone.

Dan rifles through his jacket pockets, producing the packet and his lighter, then walks back to the couch.

“Oh,” Jones says stupidly.

“What?” Dan asks holding the cigarette between his lips and pausing before lighting it.

“I just... I guess I thought you were going outside.”

“We’ve smoked in the house before...” Dan seems bewildered, still holding the unlit cigarette between his lips and the blazing lighter just a bit too far away from it.

“No, that’s fine. Go ahead.” Dan lights the cigarette and holds it out to Jones, then lights another for himself. They smoke in silence for a minute or two before Jones finishes his thought. “I just... I guess I thought, when you said, ‘I’m gonna have a smoke,’ that you really meant, ‘I’m gonna step outside because I need a minute to shit myself over what’s just happened.’” Jones laughs a little.

“Oh. Well... Yeah, I guess I can see how you’d think that, but no. I mean... yeah, sort of. Look, Jones,” he turns to face him fully now, “We do need to sort this out. I mean, what the hell are we doing?”

Jones shrugs. “I told you, Dan. I like you. And it ain’t just ‘cos I’m pissed. I like you. I don’t know why. There’s always been... sumfin’, I dunno what, yeah, but sumfin’ that’s pulling me toward you.” He shakes his head and laughs a little, “I know I sound proper gay right now, but I can’t help it.” Their hands brush as they both reach to stub out their cigarettes. Jones wonders if Dan gets a small thrill at the touch as well. They promptly light up round two, and he continues: “You ‘member when we first met? At the pub?” Dan nods. “I was watching’ you, before I went up to talk to you. Nothin’ pervy. You just looked so ... alone. And maybe it’s just ‘cos I was feeling the same way or whatever, but I swear I woulda done anyfing in the world to make you not feel that way anymore. It weren’t even nuffin’ romantical or whatever. I just felt like...”He gestures vaguely, trailing smoke through the air. “Like how you felt and how I felt were just...  _connected_ somehow. Like if you felt good, I would too.”

“I’m not gay.” It’s all Dan can manage. It’s an apology, an excuse, a petition, a plea. It’s as much for himself as it is for Jones.

“Well it ain’t like I’m some pervy queer who stalked you at the pub, tricked you into movin’ in wif’ me, an’ then brought a bunch o’ birds home in some elaborate lie just so’s I could suck your dick, yeah?” Jones scoffs, huffing smoke out his nostrils like a dragon. “I told you, Dan. I ain’t gay either. I ain’t never even looked at a bloke before. It’s  _just_ you, and you know what I figure about that? I figure that must mean somefin’ special, yeah? Like, this is outta the ordinary – it’s ridiculous. It makes  _no_ sense. But sometimes things  _don’t_ make sense, Dan. It don’t make sense that my parents got killed, but it happened, yeah? It don’t make sense that your dad would just let you walk away from a full ride at uni. It don’t make sense that someone like you would just agree to move in with some kid you’d only met an hour ago, right? But all them things happened, Dan. All them things happened, and I fink it’s because you’n’me are meant to end up together. I’ve thought that a long time. And I told myself I was crazy, and I told myself that even if that is true, it probably just means we’re meant to be best mates or whatever, but time goes by and I can’t stop thinking about you, and I see the way you look at me sometimes, and it is doing my head in, Dan, and I can’t take it anymore.”

True to form, Dan remains stubborn. “But... I’m not gay.”

“Goddammit, Dan! I know that! You don’t like blokes! Neither do I! But I  _do_ like  ** _you_**. And  _you_  like  _me_ too, don’t you?”

Dan sighs, resigned. “Yes. God knows why, but I do, yes. I  _like_ you, Jones. I  _do_. But... I’m not  _gay_...”

“ _ **God!**_  Why does  _everyfing_ have to have a label, Dan? Maybe there’s more to it than just being ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ or whatever! Maybe it’s possible to be a totally straight guy who fancies  _one_ bloke. Maybe some things are bigger than those boxes, those labels, Dan. Maybe some things don’t  _have_ a name. Maybe some things are just meant to happen, even though they don’t make sense, even if we don’t understand them.”

“Like... this...?” Dan waves his arms about to indicate the clothes on the floor, the warm, untouched beers going flat on the table, the blowjob that transpired in this very spot on the sofa, the situation they’ve found themselves in now.

“Yes, Dan.  _Exactly_  like this.” He moves closer and takes Dan’s hand in both of his. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on here; I don’t know  _why_ , but I  _do_ know that I like you. A lot. And I don’t regret what just happened here, what we did. I don’t. Because it ain’t just nuffin’ to me, Dan. I didn’t just do it ‘cos I’m drunk and horny or because I’m curious or whatever. I did it because I wanted to. I  _have_ wanted to. For a while now. I just finally got up the courage to because I'm drunk.  So I don’t regret it. And I really hope you don’t either because I like you, and I would hate to think I’d made you feel bad or not wanna be around me anymore.”

“I don’t feel  _bad_ ; I’m just...” Dan shrugs futilely.

Jones rolls his eyes. “You’re just not gay. I know. You’ve mentioned it. I’m not either, but I don’t care about that anymore. I just wanna be where you are, Dan. I just want–”

“Stop talking, Jones.” Dan’s eyes are closed, and he looks positively exhausted.

“Well  _you’re_ not saying anything!”

“I know.” Dan opens his eyes to stare at him, and Jones wishes he could see inside his head. Dan looks terrified, yes, but there’s something more there, so many conflicting emotions flickering in his eyes.  _What are you thinking?_ Jones asks silently. _I know you’re scared, but why can’t you just tell me how you feel?_

He’s taken completely by surprise when Dan kisses him. His stomach thrills as he winds his fingers back into the curls at the base of Dan’s neck. Oh, those curls. Jones has been staring at them for close to two months now, thinking about them while he lays awake in bed, how soft the hair would be, the way they would feel wrapped around his fingers. Reality lives up to his fantasies. If anything, Dan’s hair is even softer than he’s imagined. Dan can’t seem to get enough of Jones’ hands in his hair. He’d noticed it earlier too. As soon as he’d touched Dan’s hair, it was like flipping a switch. He makes a mental note and smiles into the kiss.

“What’s so funny?” Dan’s words spill right into his mouth.

“Nothing,” Jones pulls back a bit and studies Dan’s face. The fear is still there, but it’s softened, more tentative anticipation than crippling anxiety. “Just ... all this time I thought I must be losing my mind. And to find out that you ‘pparently been losing yours too... It’s just... you know?”

Dan smiles, a proper smile, all the way up to his eyes. “Yeah,” he sighs, “I know.”

Jones snuggles into Dan’s side, lying his head on his shoulder. Dan rests his head on Jones’. They stare together at the now-blue telly screen, listening to the tape rewind. Dan is the first to speak: “So. We like each other... Now what?”

“Well,” Jones yawns massively and gets to his feet, stretching his arms high over his head, “I reckon that now it’s time for bed. It technically ain’t even my birthday no more now, and you got class in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, I do, yeah...” Dan is once again apprehensive. He stands awkwardly and says, “Well... goodnight.”

“Where you going?” Jones tries to keep his voice light, inviting without being clingy, teasing without mocking. He knows how insecure Dan gets and doesn’t want to upset him. He holds a hand out, “Come to bed wif me.”

“What?” Dan’s struggling to play it cool, but Jones can see the panic brewing beneath the surface.

“Well, when you bring a girl home from the pub or whatever, you don’t make her kip out here on the sofa or send her back to her own bed. Usually she stays the night wif’ you.” He gestures toward the bedroom. “Now, I’d say what we’ve got going on here is a bit more special than some one night stand, and it frankly makes more sense to share my king than your single, dunnit?”

Dan stares at his hand for another moment, uncertain.

“Come on, Dan. We can sort it out properly in the morning if you want, but I’d say it’s already pretty well sorted, yeah? Just come to bed with me. Please? I don’t wanna do nuffin’ but sleep, Dan. I just wanna be where you are.” His tone is so entreating that Dan can’t say no. He takes Jones’ hand and lets him lead the way to the bedroom.


	8. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys deal with the aftermath of Jones' birthday.

Dan wakes to hear his alarm going off. It takes him a while to realize why it sounds so far away. He opens his eyes and looks at Jones, sleeping peacefully through the sound that he has grown accustomed to over the past seven weeks. Dan slides cautiously out of the bed, dragging his leg out from under Jones’ as carefully as he can in the hopes of not waking him. Too late. Jones’ wide blue eyes flutter open, and he smiles as he flings his arms over his head in a supine stretch. “Mornin’, Dan,” he mumbles through a yawn.

 

“Good morning,” Dan smiles nervously in return. “I’m sorry I woke you. I’ve just – I’ve got to get ready for class...”

 

“No worries,” Jones interjects. “Go ‘bout your business. I’ll just lie here and watch,” he winks cheekily.

 

Dan isn’t sure how he feels about being watched in his current state. He’s sporting his usual morning wood and is only wearing a pair of royal blue y-fronts. He does his best to hide his erection from Jones as he walks to the chest of drawers for some jeans and a t-shirt.

 

Jones chuckles appreciatively but knows that Dan  ** _needs_** him to be silent right now. No sudden movements. Dan takes things at his own pace, and the slightest provocation could spook him into a near panic attack. Jones has learned at least this much in their short time of living together, and he’s more than willing to play by Dan’s rules. Besides that, Jones has no clue what he’s supposed to say either. It’s not like he’s ever found himself in this situation before.

 

He decides to stay in bed until he hears Dan turn off the alarm on his way to the bath. Once he hears the water start, Jones ventures out into the living room himself, stark naked with his own morning glory unashamedly leading the way. He goes to the kitchen, flips the kettle on, and stands in the doorway, surveying the mess they left in the living room last night. He spies his pants hanging off the arm of the sofa and pulls them back on. It’s the least he can do for Dan, who he knows is shitting himself in the shower right now (not literally of course), overthinking everything and probably still in a panic in spite of the conversation they’d had last night. He gathers the rest of their clothes and dumps them in the basket in the closet, then pulls on some pajama bottoms and a vest of his own. He dumps the long-forgotten beers down the sink and tosses the bottles in the bin. As he’s coming out of the kitchen with his morning brew, Dan is finally stepping out of the bathroom.

 

“Alright, Dan?” Jones asks softly.

 

Dan nods but continues to look apprehensive.

 

“Kettle’s on. You want a cuppa?” He shuffles nervously.

 

“Um, sure,” Dan says as he stuffs things into his schoolbag. “I’ll just take it with me,” he adds, seeming keen on getting out of the flat in a hurry.

 

As he walks back into the kitchen to put together a travel mug of tea, Jones isn’t particularly disheartened by Dan’s sketchiness. He  _ **knows**_ that Dan wants to be with him or he would have stopped Jones from going so far last night. Wendy warned him that Dan’s stubborn and doesn’t do anything that he doesn’t actually  _want_ to do, so Jones isn’t offended by his shortness, nor does he think for one second that Dan regrets last night’s activities. No, he thinks as he sets out the mug, Dan never  _ **said**_ that he’s in this, but Dan never  _says_ much of anything. He’s great with a pen but shit with the spoken word. He just needs some time to process the shift. It’s just Dan’s way, overthinking, panicking, being stubborn and reluctant. It's how Dan does everything. He's like this when he picks out clothes for a presentation, Jones reminds himself as he adds a sugar packet and a tiny splash of cream, and this is  _much_ more important than some trousers or a grade. Jones is willing to give Dan as much time as he needs to process.  _Hell_ , Jones thinks as he heads back into the living room, _I could use some time too._   _I know I want this, but I have no idea what **this** is exactly or what to do to make it happen._

 

Jones smiles warmly as Dan takes the cup from him, noticing the way that Dan’s hand lingers momentarily on his own.  _See?_ Jones thinks to himself.  _He wants this. He’s just not sure what the hell he’s supposed to do next. And that makes two of us._ Dan smiles back nervously then rapidly sets the mug down on the table by the door and pulls Jones to him for a rough kiss. Jones’ surprised squeak disappears down Dan’s throat, and in an instant, as quickly as it began, it’s over. “Bye then,” Dan smiles awkwardly but exuberantly as he grabs the mug and bolts out the door. Jones stands dumbstruck in the doorway with his fingertips against his lower lip for several seconds after he hears the front door slam.

 

* * *

 

All day, Dan thinks of Jones. He starts out thinking about the way their legs were entangled when he woke this morning. He thinks about how warm and lovely Jones’ slight frame felt wrapped in his arms all night long. After a bit, his thoughts drift to the way Jones’ cock felt under his hand, the way Jones’ eyes fluttered closed as he let out a shuddering moan, and the thick, sticky warmth ran between their fingers. He lets his mind  _really_ wander then, thinking about the lustful glint in Jones’ eyes as he had looked up at Dan from between his thighs, the way his shaggy blonde hair had felt soft between Dan’s fingers, the hot, wet, delicious feel of Jones’ mouth around him. He quickly decides that such thinking is dangerous when the professor calls on him for an answer and his voice wavers as he admits that he wasn’t paying attention. He bites down on the knuckles of his left hand as he picks up his pen to resume taking notes on the American Civil War.

 

* * *

 

All day, Jones thinks of Dan. He starts out thinking about the way their legs were entangled when he woke this morning. He thinks about how warm and safe he’d felt wrapped in Dan’s arms all night long. He recalls the nervous way that Dan had licked his lips before he kissed Jones that morning. As his thoughts pick up speed, he finds himself remembering the thick, sticky warmth that ran between their fingers as his hand encircled Dan’s around his dick. He lets his thoughts  _really_ wander and remembers how hot Dan’s erection had felt in his mouth, the musky, salty flavour of him, the lustful glint in his eyes as he’d looked down at Jones between his thighs. The bell on the shop door jingles, startling Jones, and he quickly decides that such thinking could get him into trouble right now.

 

* * *

 

After class, Dan remembers that he needs razors and decides to pop into Boots and buy some on his way home. He’s not sure how it’s happened, but he’s suddenly found himself standing in the Family Planning aisle, staring at a bottle of Astroglide in his hand. “What am I doing?” he whispers aloud to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He puts the bottle back on the shelf. Picks it up. Puts it down. They engage in a stare-off. The bottle wins. Dan quickly tucks it under the razors and shave cream in his basket, his heart pounding as though he were carrying a live grenade, and bolts for the checkout queue, hoping to God he doesn’t run into anyone he knows.

 

* * *

 

Dan is grateful that Jones is working late this evening. This buys him some time to find a good hiding place for the offending item. He’s still not sure why he even bought it. He goes into the bathroom and unpacks the bag, putting his razors and shave cream in the medicine cabinet as usual, then walks with the lube to the bedroom. Where to hide it? In one of his drawers? Too risky. Jones is responsible for the laundry, often going so far as to put Dan’s away for him. Between the mattress and the bedsprings? No. Dan tries it, but the lump feels obvious when he lies down to test it out. He finally settles on a box in the back of the closet, filled with mementos his mother swore he’d want when he went off to uni. He’s grateful for her insistence, though he doubts this was the use she’d had in mind for it. He heads to the kitchen to put something together for dinner and tries to calm the still feverish beating of his heart.

 

When Jones arrives at half-seven, Dan has had a cup of tea and two beers to calm his nerves. He’s starting on a third when Jones breezes into the kitchen and grabs one for himself from the fridge before hopping onto the counter to watch Dan cook.

 

“Whatcha makin’?” he asks casually.

 

“Just some chicken and mash,” he replies, not making eye contact, but leaning over to peck Jones’ cheek.

 

Jones smiles at the sudden display of affection, pleased that Dan seems to be tentatively settling into this new arrangement. He lays his head on Dan’s shoulder. “It smells well good.” Dan ruffles his hair, then puts the wooden spoon down and turns so that he’s stood between Jones’ legs. With Jones sitting at counter-height, they’re eye to eye for once.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

They smile at one another shyly.

 

“Missed you today,” Jones ventures, tucking a stray curl behind Dan’s ear.

 

Dan grins and runs his thumb along Jones’ jawline before leaning in for a kiss that is completely unlike any they have shared before. Unquestionably not as awkward as their first, definitely not as desperate as the ones they shared last night, certainly not as abrupt as the one Dan surprised him with this morning. This one is sweet and slow and seems to go on forever. Jones has wrapped his arms around Dan’s neck and he feels the larger boy’s palms resting against the small of his back, pulling him slightly closer. There is no clashing of teeth, no fighting for dominance, no inept groping. It’s their first  _real_ kiss, just getting to know one another’s lips and tongues, finding the secret places in each other’s mouths. After a few minutes, Dan pulls back and clears his throat nervously, stepping sideways to resume cooking. Jones bites his lip and ducks his head, letting his hair hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. They remain in companionable silence for a while, drinking their beers, Dan stirring the pot on the stove, and then Jones hops down and announces, “I’m just gonna go wash up, yeah?”

 

“Sure; it’ll just be ready in a minute,” Dan calls over his shoulder.

 

Jones flicks on the bathroom light and looks in the mirror. His cheeks are still pink; his eyes are bright. He looks healthier and happier than he’s let himself feel since that terrible day in May. He turns on the water to wash his hands and sees a slip of paper on the counter by the sink. Picking it up, he scans it quickly, and his eyes widen in surprise. He knew Dan seemed more comfortable this evening, but he didn’t realize just how quickly he’d had a chance to process everything. Well. This ... is an interesting development. Dan clearly wants him to see it there. He reads it like a note, a socially inept way of telling Jones that while he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, Dan is all in this thing, whatever it is. Jones smirks, pocketing the slip, and goes back to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Several days later, Jones wonders why Dan still hasn’t made any mention of the telltale receipt. He decides that maybe the slip was Dan’s idea of a first move, that perhaps the ball is now in his court, and he decides to do something about it. Dan has some assignments for his anthropology class, and while he works on them, Jones puts on his headphones, pretending to make a mix but actually trying to formulate a plan. Forty minutes later, he’s smirking when he calls out, “Hey, Dan! You ready for a study break?”

 

Dan stretches and sighs, “Almost, but not quite. I’m nearly finished.”

 

Jones wrenches the cable out of the headphone jack anyway, and the flat is flooded with music. Jones has put on his Cranberries album, and Dan sighs. He thinks Dolores O’Riordan sounds like a banshee. Jones tries to make his intentions clear, swaying seductively and trying unsuccessfully to make eyes at Dan, who is still buried in his work. “I know it’s absolutely every-fucking-where right now, but I still love this song,” Jones says, as if he were making a comment about the song in a shop, not while he’s performing an amateur striptease to it in his living room. Dan barely makes a grunt of acknowledgement. “Don’t you like it?” Jones asks softly. Dan finally glances up at the tone in Jones’ voice, and Jones knows he has his undivided attention. As Dolores croons in the background, Jones continues his slow, swaying dance, languidly stripping off his shirt, only breaking eye contact with Dan for the moment he pulls it over his head.

 

“What are you doing?” Dan asks warily.

 

“Oh, I fink you know,” Jones waggles his eyebrows.

 

“This song isn’t even romantic,” Dan observes. “It’s about a jilted woman who can’t let go of the past.”

 

“Don’t fink about the  _verses_ , Dan. Just listen to the chorus. ‘ _You got me wrapped around your finger..._ ’ That bit’s true. I’d do anything for you; you know that. Even... you know...” Jones is still swaying, but he’s gone a bit shy, looking up at Dan through his fringe.

 

“Even what?” Dan asks obtusely.

 

“You know...  _let_ you...  ** _you know_**...” Jones can’t quite make himself say the words  _fuck me_ ,  _top_ , or anything else that equates to  _put your cock up my arse_. He’s not sure if he can’t say it because he’s afraid of offending Dan or because he’s nervous that Dan will actually take him up on it, but the idea is out there now, and he can’t take it back.

 

Dan stares at him for a few seconds, then realization dawns on his face, and quickly after it, horror. Jones freezes and bites his lip. Somewhere along the line this has all gone wrong. How could he have misread the situation so badly? Tears spring to his eyes, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever recover from the embarrassment of this moment. Damn his stupid, impulsive self! Why couldn’t he just let Dan come to him in his own time? Why did he have to be so over-eager, push so hard? Sure they’ve been fooling around every night, but they’ve only been –  _whatever-they-are_ – for a week, and they’ve only been on one proper date! What kind of slag is Dan going to think he is? He drops his head into his hands and starts up a mantra of “Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jones.”

 

Dan tuts and sighs, then reaches out to take Jones’ belt loops and pull him in close, so the shorter boy is stood between his knees. He wraps his arms around Jones’ waist and nuzzles his curly head into the tiny, flat stomach before him. “Listen, Jones... I really ...  _appreciate_... what you’re saying, but... I’m just...  ** _not_** _ready_  for that yet. If that’s okay,” he adds quickly.

 

“ _If that’s okay?_ ” Jones sounds legitimately hurt. “Of course it’s okay Dan! I’m not some selfish bastard, only lookin’ out for me, just in it to get off. I  _like_ you. I care about this. Whatever the hell is goin’ on here... it’s different. It’s special.  _You’re_ special.” Dan refuses to stop hiding his face in Jones’ midsection, so Jones just pets his curls and talks to the back of his head. “I  _really_ care about you. I don’t even know what I was finkin’, yeah? I  _werent_ ’ finking, maybe that’s the problem. I’d  _never_ ask you to do sumfin' you weren’t up for, yeah? I just ... I really thought you...” he feels awkward now, unsure, afraid, and most of all, painfully embarrassed.

 

“You thought what?” Dan’s voice is muffled by Jones’ shirt.

 

“I just thought this was what you wanted. ‘Cos you left me this.” Jones wriggles out of Dan’s grip and pulls the Boots receipt out of his pocket.

 

Dan stares at it, terror-stricken.

 

“Where did you get that?” he asks bluntly.

 

“Found it in the bathroom when I was washing up for dinner last week. On the counter. I thought you’d left it there for me to see, like you was trying to tell me something, but now I’m thinking I am  _ **way**_ off base.” Jones wonders if the expression on his face matches the nauseated humiliation in Dan’s. He feels like it probably does.

 

“It’s not that I don’t...” Dan’s cheeks are flaming and he can’t seem to find the right words. “I  _do_ want... I mean... I  _don’t_...” He takes a deep breath and blunders on. “I was a scout yeah? ‘Always prepared’ and all that. That’s all. I wasn’t sure. I’m still not... I don’t...” he looks helplessly at Jones, begging him silently to understand the words he cannot say.

 

“It’s alright, Dan.” He smiles and steps forward so that the larger boy can wrap his arms around him once more. This time, though, instead of burying his face, Dan rests his chin on Jones’ navel and looks straight up into his wide, blue eyes. Jones runs his fingers through the wild tangle of curls, loving the way they pull straight then spring back into place, cascading over Dan’s forehead and almost obscuring those perfect brown eyes. “We’re still figuring it out, yeah? We got  _loads_ o’ time. When it happens, it’s gonna be a big deal, yeah? It’s  _good_ to take it serious, take it slow. We don’t have to do it right away. We don’t have to do anything at all.” He smiles shyly down at Dan.

 

Dan smiles back and takes a shaky breath, glad that this crisis has been averted. “Well, I wouldn’t say we don’t have to do  _anything_...” Dan raises his eyebrows suggestively and nuzzles his face a bit lower this time.

 

“Why, Dan Ashcroft! Look at you! Bein’ all forward and shit!” Jones cackles as Dan hoists him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carries him off to the bedroom.

 


	9. The Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys adjust to day-to-day life and make an important decision. Then they go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who aren't following me on tumblr, I apologize for how long it has been between chapters and how far off schedule we have gotten. I've been ill, and then half my family got it as well. In addition, the seasonal depression is in full swing, and we had a death in the family in addition to a business trip, holiday parties, and a ballet recital. So..... a LOT happening in less than two weeks. I tried to keep up, but at some point, I just.... couldn't. I am going to adjust my posting schedule moving forward from here. I'll be putting up two chapters right now, and then hopefully trying for one every day still until I run out of old material, and then I'll be posting one new chapter per week after that. If I get to more than that, it'll be a happy bonus, but I honestly don't know if I can commit to twice a week updates with my current mental state and responsibility load outside of my internet life. I am sure you all understand, and I appreciate every single one of you. Now please enjoy the prelude to some smut (and the actual smut itself in the next chapter!) and have a wonderfully savage Christmas.

_October 6th, 1995_

“Mmm... You’re all warm and cuddly, like a bear.”  Dan squirms a bit as Jones nuzzles his neck.

“A – Hey!  That tickles! – a bear?  I’m awfully lanky for a bear.  I’m more like a dog if anything.”

“Mmm,” Jones continues his nuzzling, moving in a southwardly direction, “Like a Great Dane, all limbs and slobber and awkward cuddles.”

“Slobber!?  How dare you!” Dan tries to sound stern, but he can’t help laughing as Jones’ nose digs into his ribs.

“All I’m saying,” Jones murmurs as he kisses his way back up Dan’s chest, “is that you can be a very ...  _enthusiastic_ kisser.  That’s all.” 

“I’ll show  _you_ enthusiasm, you cheeky twat.”

Jones grins impishly at Dan, who flings him onto his back and pins him down, tickling and kissing him until he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Alright,” Dan stretches and stands.  “I’ve got to get ready for class or I’m gonna be late.  You off at 7:00 tonight?”

“Half-six.”

“Alright then.  Meet you at the pub after?”

“You know it.”

With a quick peck on the cheek and a ruffle of Jones’ hair, Dan grabs some clean pants and heads for the bath, while Jones pads to the kitchen to put the kettle on for Dan’s morning cuppa to go.

* * *

_October 15th, 1995_

“I don’t understand when I’m ever going to need to know this.”

Dan is wrestling with a write-up for his biology class.  Jones is trying to teach himself to play Dan’s guitar and is recording the discordant notes along with the sounds of Dan’s frustrated groans and the ripping of sheet after sheet of discarded paper.  He figures he can work it all together into a pretty good mix.  He’s going to call it “Shh! Dan’s trying to work here, and for Christ’s sake put some trousers on, Jones!”  Yes, that title has got a bit of a ring to it.  He grins cheekily and slithers over to the sofa where Dan is scribbling furiously.

“Come on, Dan, don’t you want to know what you and Sasha’s kids are gonna look like some day?”  Jones knows he’s pushing it, but he just can’t help himself.

“Ha ha,” Dan says without mirth.  “Seriously.  We’re just friends, I hate children, and Sasha’s a lesbian anyway. Besides, I’m going into  _journalism_ , not science! When am I ever going to need this genetic engineering bullshit?”

“Oh, come on, Dan.   _Hate_ ’s a pretty strong word, and she could always go for a turkey baster thing...”

“I hate you.”

“That’s not what you said when I had your cock in my mouth last night,” Jones is now hanging off of Dan’s back like a monkey.

“I’m going to kill you if you don’t get off of me right now.”

“That’s not what you said –” Jones is cut off by a throw pillow hitting him in the face.

* * *

_October 21st,1995_

“See you on Monday, Rob!”  Jones hangs up his apron, cashes out his tips, and walks out into the bright, slanting sun of the late Saturday afternoon.  As he walks to the bus stop, he thinks of Dan.  Not that that’s anything out of the ordinary.  Jones finds himself thinking of Dan all the time lately. 

> _“I’m just sayin’, Dan.  If you’re scared or whatever, I’ll be the girl.  Don’t bovver me none.  I reckon I’ll still feel well manly after, and ‘sides, I’ve always been the giver.  I’m kinda curious what it’s like on the other side o’ things, you know what I mean?” They’re lying in bed, Dan playing with Jones’ ever-lengthening hair, nothing sexual, just talking._
> 
> _“I’m not **scared** , Jones.  I just... That’s a huge step for me–”_
> 
> _“One giant leap for mankind...” The younger boy intones._
> 
> _“I’m being serious now, Jones.”  Dan’s face is pleading.  “It’s not a matter of who... **gives** or  **takes** or whatever.  It’s just... It’s like losing your virginity all over again.  I know you threw yours away on some tart at the beach, lo those many years ago, but –”_
> 
> _“Hey!  I didn’t just ‘throw it away’!  I liked Trisha!  I liked her a lot!  Her family rented the cottage next to ours for **years**.  I’d probably fancied her since I was about 12.”_
> 
> _“Whatever.  It’s just... It **says** something, Jones,” Dan studies his hands, unable to make eye contact, as if he’s ashamed of what he’s trying to say._
> 
> _“Yeah?  And what does it say, Dan?  That you’re a big, faggy gay?” He’s trying to lighten the mood, to no avail._
> 
> _“I don’t **know** , Jones.  I don’t know  **what** it says.  I just know it’s a big deal to me, alright? And I’m not ready, so drop it.  Please.” He gets out of bed then, as if to go sleep on the futon._
> 
> _“I’m sorry!” Jones puts his hands up in surrender and pulls a contrite face.  “I promise I ain’t tryin’ to pressure you or whatever.  I can wait.  I **will**.  I just wanted you to know, if that’s what’s stoppin’ you, that I’ll go on the bottom.  That’s all.”  There’s a beat of silence and then, “That way it ain’t like you’re the  **really** gay one.”  He winks, unable to be as serious about it as Dan, but he really isn’t  **trying** to be flippant either.  He’d meant everything he’d said on his birthday.  He’s never understood why everything needs a label, why everything has to be black or white.  He, too, feels like sex with Dan would be a great leap into the murky waters of the unknown, but the unknown ceased to frighten him several months ago. “Oh, come on, Dan.  Don’t be like that,” he whines as Dan starts pulling his clothes for the next morning and heads for the living room.  “Dan!  Dan!  Daaaaaaan!!!”  The door slams behind him, and Jones flops back onto the bed, hating himself a bit._

“Alright, Dan?” Jones asks timidly as he steps off the bus.

Dan tips his head and starts walking down the block toward Charlotte’s flat.  Jones jogs to catch up, “Hey!  Ain’t you gonna talk to me, Dan?”

“What do you want me to say, Jones?”

“I dunno... Just... ‘Hi.  How was your day?’ Sumfin’ like that?  I just don’t want you to be mad at me, Dan.”  He’s clinging to Dan’s arm, preventing him from walking any further.

Dan sighs.  “I’m not mad at you, Jones.”  He gives a small, tired smile, as if to prove his point.

“You sure seem like you’re mad at me.  I promise I weren’t tryin’ to start nuffin’ last night, Dan.  I swear.  I don’t care if we  _never_ do it!”  Dan makes a skeptical face.  “Okay, you’re right.  I  _would_ care then.  I mean, I’m not plannin’ to be a monk or nuffin’, but you know what I mean.  I swear to God, I’m not tryin’ to rush you.  I just thought, it’s been, like, a month, yeah?  I thought we could just … revisit the conversation.  That’s all.  I promise.  Just  _talking_ about it.  That’s all I wanted to do.”

“I know, Jones,” Dan tugs his arm away, looking nervously up at Charlotte’s front window.  “I’m sorry, too, okay?  I shouldn’t have stropped off.  I just... I can’t be...” he shrugs.  “I can’t be so  _open_ about it as you can – And please do not even make a joke right now,” Dan says, reading his mind.  “I just need  _time_.  And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.  But I’m not mad.  I promise.”  He squeezes Jones’ hand lightly then steps up to Charlotte’s front door and rings the bell.

* * *

“It’s so lovely to have you joining us again this evening, Dan.”  Charlotte smiles warmly as she passes him the bread basket. 

“Thanks for having me,” Dan smiles awkwardly.

“Oh, you’re always welcome here, dear.  Always.  How have you been?  Haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks.  Keeping busy?  Danny says you’ve been having a bit of trouble with biology.”

“It’s just... stupid.  They paired us all up and made us do some sort of genetics thing...”

“You should see the pictures I drew of Dan and Sasha’s kids, Char.  Well gorg, they’re gonna be.”

“I am not having any children with Sasha!” Dan protests while Charlotte and Jones share a laugh. 

“Dan’s just jealous ‘cos he’s full of recessive genes,” Jones winks.

“Seriously.  Stop.  Please.  Sasha and I are just friends.  She has no interest in me that way.”

“Alright then.  She’s not interested, but what about you, Dan?” Charlotte asks.  “Anyone over there at Kingston catching  _your_ fancy?”  She gives him a probing look.

“Umm, no.”  Dan is suddenly very interested in his plate.

“Well, you’ve got plenty of time for that.  You’re young.  Best to focus on your studies now anyway; let love catch you in its own time.”  

Jones butters a slice of bread with such intense concentration it’s as though his life depends upon it. 

“And that goes for you, too, Danny.  I don’t need you making me a great aunt anytime soon.”  Jones forces a half-hearted chuckle.  She smiles knowingly at both boys.  “You two are awfully quiet this evening.”

“Sorry, Char.  Long day at the shop.”

“I’ve been really swamped with schoolwork.”

“Yeah, I think we’re both just knackered.”

“Poor boys,” she tuts.  “It’s difficult being a proper grown-up.  I’ve had a bugger of a week too.   Clients calling in moaning about this and that.  Can’t seem to please anyone.  We warn you as kids, but you still spend your whole life expecting it be some big party all the time, and now that you’re here, well... We told you so.”  She shakes her head but smiles warmly.  “Who’s ready for some dessert then, and we can call it an early evening?  I’ve made pumpkin tarts, and I’ve got some cinnamon tea in.  I know how you love it, Danny.”

“Sounds great, Char.”  Jones grins until she leaves the room then raises his eyebrows Dan, who merely shrugs.

* * *

On October 27th, Dan wakes before his alarm.  As he rubs his eyes and adjusts to the light, he looks over at Jones who is still sleeping beside him.  They’re not touching, save for one of Jones’ feet hooked around the back of Dan’s knee.  Jones is lying half on his side, one arm folded up across his face, the other flopped over the edge of the bed.  Dan wonders how he sleeps through Jones’ veritable sleep moshing.  Moving as slowly as possible, he unhooks his leg and raises himself up onto one elbow.  Jones shuffles a bit, dropping the arm from his face and rolling even further onto his side, his back to Dan. 

Dan smiles, noticing the way Jones’ cheek is flushed from his arm pressing into it, the long curve of his thick eyelashes, the way his sandy blonde hair (re-dyed back to its original color, thank God) looks literally spun with gold in the morning sun streaming through the bedroom window.  He listens carefully to Jones’ deep, even breathing, bordering on snoring really, as his mouth is wide open.  Dan chuckles softly to himself and tucks a stray bit of hair behind Jones’ ear, brushing his face softly.  That’s when it dawns on him.

_Oh my God, I love him._

Dan freezes, unsure of what to do next.  Part of him wants to shake Jones awake, to flail and gesture and shout it in his face: “I love you!  I love you!  I don’t care who knows it!   _I! Love! You!!!_ ” but he somehow doubts that Jones would appreciate such a violent wake up call.  Part of him wants to whisper it in his ear, but what if Jones doesn’t wake up, doesn’t hear him, and he wastes the only first time he’s ever going to get to say those words? 

Jones rolls all the way over onto his stomach, flinging his arms above his head on the pillow, but still doesn’t wake up.  As Dan slides out of bed, he catches a glimpse of Jones’ tight, perfect ass and finds himself awash in feelings, not only of love, but of lust as well.  His mind is made up for him.  He turns off his alarm and sneaks out of the room to get ready for class, leaving Jones sleeping soundly.

* * *

Jones wakes some time later to discover that Dan has already left.  He’s a bit disappointed that Dan didn’t say goodbye, but then he sees the note on his pillow.

**_Ready when you are._ **

**** **_– Dan x_ **

Jones is frozen for a moment, not daring to hope that this means what he thinks it means.  He’s still slightly traumatized from the receipt debacle and doesn’t want to jump to conclusions.  The more he mulls it over, though, the more he realizes that there’s only  **one** thing Dan could mean.   _Oh my God.  It’s really gonna happen.  We are finally gonna do this._   Smirking to himself, he flips the paper over and writes on the back. 

_**DATE NIGHT.  TONIGHT.   MEET ME AT THE SHOP AT SIX.** _

_**– JONES  XXX** _

He places the note prominently on the coffee table, where he’s sure Dan will see it when he gets home from class.  He’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to wipe the ridiculous grin off of his face.

* * *

Jones’ mind is racing all day.  In between mixing color and sweeping hair, he tries to come up with a plan for the perfect date.  Never mind that he’s supposed to be the “girl” in this situation; he knows what Dan is giving him, what this means, and he wants to sweep him off his feet, to show him that he cares just as deeply about this.  As he says goodnight to Rob and leaves, he sees Dan across the street, leaning against a wall and smoking.

“You look well James Dean right now,” he says, smoothing the lapels of Dan’s leather jacket and brushing his curls out of his eyes. “Did you actually put product in your hair?  For me?”  He laughs a bit, not unkindly.

“Might have,” Dan flicks the cigarette away and takes Jones hand as they start walking.  “So, where you takin’ me?”

“Well, I been thinking all day, right?”

“I’ll bet you have.” Jones is sure he’s never heard Dan sound so seductive. 

He squeezes Dan’s hand and continues.  “So yeah, I been thinking, and I thought we’d grab something to eat and go sit by the Thames, yeah?  Catch the famous Waterloo Sunset and all that.  Whatcha fink?”

“Eh, Waterloo sunset’s fine,” Dan’s voice is noncommittal, but he winks. 

“Alright, Terry, let’s go.”

“Lead on, Julie.”

Dinner’s nothing fancy; just kebabs from a vendor by the river.  They eat while they walk, neither of them talking much, just content to be together and slightly shy about what they both know is coming.  They walk past a florist packing up for the day, and Dan, seemingly on impulse, buys Jones a sprig of pinky-purple blossoms to tuck in his buttonhole.  They stand on a footbridge, looking out over the river, Jones leaning back against Dan’s chest, Dan’s arms wrapped tightly around him.  He plays the Kinks on his Walkman as the sun goes down, not really caring if it’s cheesy. 

They continue to stand there, even after it’s properly dark.  Dan takes advantage of the low light, tucking Jones’ hair behind his ear, and kissing his way from the top of his ear down to his shoulder.  Jones can feel Dan getting hard, pressing against his ass through his jeans.  He turns and wraps his arms around him, squeezing him tightly so the taller boy can feel that it’s mutual.  Dan smiles down at him, and Jones can see it in his eyes, but he just can’t wait for Dan to work up the courage to say it first.

“Iloveyou,” he breathes in a rush.

Dan crushes him in a bear hug, covering his mouth with an urgent kiss that’s as good as a reply.  They kiss for what feels like forever, Dan’s hands firmly gripping his ass; his own hands tangled in Dan’s curls.  Finally, Jones breaks away to stand on tiptoe and nip at Dan’s ear before whispering seductively, “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dan breathes out with a shudder.


	10. Their First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date goes well. Very well. Oh, come on, you know what’s coming next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning! But lbr, you knew that. It's why you clicked on this chapter. Welcome to the bone zone. Population 2. 3 if you count the palpable first-time awkwardness as an active participant.

As usual, Dan is awkward. Dan is scared. But Dan is also more than ready for this. At least he’s pretty sure he is. He only has a vague memory of how they got home. He remembers the feeling of Jones’ crooked teeth on his earlobe by the Thames, he vaguely recalls a quick stop at the market for a bottle of merlot, and now Jones is slamming them up against the door of the maisonette. They kiss in the entryway for a while before Jones holds up the wine and leers, “Let’s move this party to the bedroom, yeah?”

“I’ll get the corkscrew,” Dan pants.

They loll in bed, drinking, kissing, caressing, not terribly concerned about whether the wine is going into their mouths, dripping down their chests, or soaking into the bedspread. They pass the bottle back and forth, giggling like schoolchildren, spilling wine into each other’s mouths from their own. Before long, though, the bottle is empty, and they’ve gone a bit shy again. For all the kissing and touching they’ve been doing, neither of them seems to want to be the one to make the first “real” move. Jones has had a few weeks to get used to the idea of what Dan’s about to do to him, but he’s still more nervous than he thought he would be. Dammit. Why did he think they needed a big fancy date night? And the wine didn’t help. He thought it would loosen him up, but all it’s done is buy even more time to overthink things and let his nerves get in the way.

Dan, on the other hand, is a bit anxious, but he’s also starting to feel the aphrodisial effects of the wine in earnest. He drops the empty bottle onto the floor, then rolls over to pin Jones beneath him, kissing him deeply. He breaks away to catch his breath, licking his way down Jones’ jaw and across his neck, whispering roughly in his ear, “Oh God, I want you.”

That’s all it takes. All insecurities are pushed aside as Jones whimpers and coaxes Dan to flip onto his back so he can frantically scrabble at their belts and flies. He drops both belts to the floor and tries to strip off his jeans without breaking the kiss. They’re both laughing again, jubilant, positively giddy in their anticipation. Dan tries to pull Jones’ t-shirt off, but it gets caught, and he can’t help from this angle now that Jones is sat on his chest. Jones yanks it over his head and flings it away in one motion, then sets to unbuttoning Dan’s. His fingers are flying, but he takes time to kiss his way down Dan’s chest, placing his lips just above where each button comes undone. When the last set comes apart, he splays the shirt open, fanning his hands across Dan’s belly and chest, savoring both the sight and the feel of Dan’s bare skin beneath his hands. Dan squirms a bit. “What?” Jones asks cheekily, “Does that tickle?” He sets about poking and prodding at Dan, who’s now laughing and flailing wildly. When he’s had enough, Dan grabs him once again and tosses him back onto the bad, holding him down and kissing him hard. “You’re gonna pay for that,” Dan growls as he tweaks Jones’ nipple.

“Oi! Be nice! Ticklin’s nice, Dan; pinchin’s mean!”

“You’re right; I’m sorry,” Dan kisses the offended nipple, then flicks his tongue across it, eliciting a squeak from Jones. “I’m sorry; does that tickle?” Dan asks with mock innocence. Jones’ laugh is answer enough. “Hmm... that’s odd. Wonder if the other one does it too...”

“No!” Jones is squawking, but Dan’s already flicking his tongue across it and laughing. “Alright, you got me back, Dan. Now quit fuckin’ around and fu...”

“Were you seriously just going to say, ‘Quit fuckin’ around and fuck  _me_ ’?”

“Sumfin’ like that, yeah,” Jones laughs sheepishly.

“You beautiful idiot,” Dan is certain that sex with a girl has never been this comical. He’s not sure when the last time he laughed like this was, not just in bed, but in general. He wonders if this is easier because Jones isn’t a girl (and is therefore far less complicated, at least as far as Dan is concerned) or simply because Jones is Jones. He figures it’s probably the latter. Everything about Jones is uninhibited and free. He knows Jones isn’t going to judge or mock him, no matter what happens here tonight.

They giggle and snog and grope one another for a while longer; then Jones ups the ante by starting a rather sloppy blowjob. Just when Dan’s sure he can’t take anymore, Jones pulls off and hands him the tube of Astroglide. Dan stares at it, no longer laughing. He tries to recall a porno he saw once; it was a girl in the film, but he figures the same basic principles apply; an arse is an arse. He flips up the cap and squirts some of the lube onto his hand. It’s surprisingly cool, and he rubs it between his fingers, trying to warm it as much as he can before touching Jones. He decides to ease his way into it, at first just working his lubed hand over Jones’ cock. Jones sighs contentedly but soon lifts his hips, a not-so-subtle indication that he’s ready for more. Dan adds more lube to his fingers, then trails lightly along Jones’ entrance, back and forth, back and forth.

Jones has reached his breaking point. “Your teasing is makin’ me  _crazy_! Stop dickin’ around and just do it!” he half-laughs, half-whines.

“I’m sorry! I’m nervous, alright? Just… don’t rush me, okay?” Dan bites his lip and smiles.

“Look,  _I’m_ the one what oughta be nervous, yeah? And  _I’m_ saying it’s okay. Just  _ **do**_ it before I lose my mind!” Jones’ nervous giggling turns to a hiss as Dan sighs and thrusts a finger into his hole.

“I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?!?” Dan tries to pull his hand back quickly but finds that Jones is gripping his wrist to hold him in place.

“We ain’t goin’ back now! Just gimme a minute,” Jones cries, sounding panicked and pained and more than a little aroused. His eyes are shut tight, his breathing has gone ragged, and Dan is pretty sure he can actually hear Jones’ heart hammering in his chest. After a moment, he gets his breathing under control, releases Dan’s wrist and wriggles a bit. “Okay, yeah, you can get on with it now,” he whispers, slightly deliriously. Jones’ eyes are still closed and he’s biting his bottom lip. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. He has never looked more beautiful. Dan isn’t quite sure  _what_ , exactly, he’s meant to “get on with” but he remembers the porno and does his best, sliding his finger in and out, crooking it slightly. Jones feels so tight around one that he’s not sure how he’s ever going to work up to two, let alone fit his cock in there. He supposes he’ll just have to make it up as he goes.

A bit later, Jones grinds his teeth while Dan slips a second finger inside.  “Alright?” he asks softly. 

Jones nods, his eyes still shut.  “Alright,” he says, sounding as though he’s talking to himself as much as Dan.  He lets out a breathy moan as Dan twists his fingers carefully, reaching for pleasure points as well as trying to open him up.  After a while, Dan slides a third finger inside, and Jones says brokenly, “That’s gonna be too much.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry!”

He scales back to two again, but Jones says, “No, that’s not what I meant. I just meant that if you keep this up – anything – I am gonna be gone before you even get to have a go.” With that he pushes Dan off of him so he can turn over onto his stomach. He’d love to be able to look in Dan’s eyes while he comes, and he’s pretty sure it would be possible to do this while they’re facing each other, but neither of them is entirely sure of the logistics, and he’s too far gone to pause everything and phone a friend. Not that he has a friend he could call about this sort of thing anyway. He brings his knees up, sticking his bum in the air and grinning over his shoulder at Dan, who’s rolling on a condom. “Try not to get carried away, alright? I’m basically a virgin, a delicate flower, so be gentle,” he laughs then buries his face in the pillow, biting down hard on it as Dan slowly pushes himself inside.

It hurts. Of course it hurts, but Jones finds that he gets off on the pain. Ever since his parents died, he’s come to relish any sensation strong enough to replace the dull, constant ache in his chest. Dan is not a small man, and his endowment matches his height. This sensation is  _definitely_ strong enough.

“Alright! Alright! I’m gonna need a minute here!” he exclaims once Dan is fully seated inside him. Dan freezes in panic as Jones takes a few deep, shuddering breaths. Tears are stinging in the corners of his eyes, but he keeps his face pressed into the pillow, sure that if Dan sees them, he’ll feel badly for hurting Jones and call the whole thing off. Jones has to admit that the pain is searing, but it somehow also feels delicious, and he can’t stop now. He  _needs_ more of this sensation; he needs more of  _Dan_. “Okay,” he says shakily, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on the pillowcase before turning his head to look back at Dan. “Okay, let’s do this.” He gives Dan a wobbly smile and then presses his face back into the pillow.

Dan starts out barely moving, making tiny, shallow thrusts like he’s afraid he’s going to break Jones. After a minute or two, he starts to get the hang of things and finds a steady rhythm, holding Jones’ hips firmly, pulling him back gently to meet each thrust. He listens carefully to Jones’ ragged breathing, to the tiny squeaks and moans he makes as Dan hits him in different places. “Oh! There!” Jones shouts suddenly, slamming his fist against the headboard. “There! Do that again! Right there!” Just a few more strokes, and they’re both coming harder than they ever have in their lives. Dan is amazed that he never even had to touch Jones’ cock to cause such a reaction. He wraps one arm tightly around Jones’ chest as they collapse together. He sags over Jones’ back, dotting kisses across his shoulders and nuzzling into the shell of his ear.

“I love you, Daniel Jones,” he finally says.

* * *

They clean up a bit and climb back into bed. Dan holds Jones loosely in his arms, and Jones has wound their legs together like he does every night. He’s sure Dan can probably still hear his heart pounding and wonders if he’ll ever come down from this high. Dan kisses the top of his head and whispers in his ear, “You did great.” He pulls back to look at the smaller boy, his eyes filled with love and concern. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

Jones does feel sore, but he also feels loved and most of all,  _alive_. He looks at Dan and smiles with tired eyes, “No, Dan. That was perfect,” he says, and kisses Dan softly before snuggling back into his chest to go to sleep.


End file.
